The Lost Art of Excuse Me

This post has nothing to do with IVF, pregnancy, or motherhood - well, maybe motherhood - but it is more of a recent observation.

Now that I take up more space, strolling my City Mini up and down the aisles of Target, Shop & Stop, and other retail establishments, I have become very aware that people are either ignorant to on coming pedestrian traffic, choose to ignore on coming pedestrian traffic, or are just deaf.

For some reason I have trouble navigating the aisles of stores with my son's stroller. I often crash into display stands (hence the Sprinkle Incident of 2012), underestimate the amount of space needed to make a turn, or get stuck on one thing or another. I try to stick to one side to allow passing or wait for oncoming traffic to go by before perusing the 900 brands of cereal available before making a commitment. I like to think I am aware of my surroundings and respectful of my fellow shoppers, but I don't feel like they are equally kind to me (or us, if we include Austin).

The other day there was a street fair in town where another mother and I were more or less pin balls, bouncing and darting from one side of the sidewalk to the next. We might as well have chanted "Excuse me" down Main Street since everyone seemed oblivious to the two women, two babies, two strollers, and one dad walking down the street. We were so ignored that we had a casualty in our midst. A carry-out container of buttered noodles for her son fell to the streets while we were jostled between spectators. Many seemed as if they were playing chicken with us, waiting until the last second to move and allow us to pass while others (usually those of an older generation) simply ignored us, forcing us to awkwardly jump a curb or squeeze between them and a bench to get by.

Why does "excuse me" not seem to work anymore? Further, why do people look so inconvenienced when the request is made? I am not asking for your first born, the shirt off your back, or money. I am kindly requesting that you scooch one way or another to let me pass.

With the older population, I wonder if it is a respect thing - be kind to your forefathers, help old ladies across the street, respect your elders? I find they are the worst offenders in the "excuse me" battle. I picture them thinking, "I dare you to ask me to move" or "I stormed the beaches of Normandy so I could stand freely on this sidewalk!" In either case, I respect your right to stand there but you also have to respect mine. I often find myself repeating the phrase 5 or 6 times before getting a begrudged nod and side step that barely allows me to pass.

Not only do I find people ignore strollers and people toting children, but runners are treated like pariahs in the world of "excuse mes". When I run outside and two people (usually it is twos since a runner can usually pass a singleton without issue) are walking ahead of me, I try to exaggerate my breathing and footfalls so they can hear me coming. When this fails, I begin my chain of "excuse mes" about 20 feet before a head on collision would occur. Sometimes I get the backwards glance and then I'm ignored, sometimes it is the over expressed sigh accompanied by the "how dare you ask me to move to the side" look, or the "I can't believe I have to stop holding hands with my lover for a millisecond" glare. Yes, if there was molten lava on either side of the sidewalk, I would definitely understand your anger - but last time I checked it was grass so get over yourself.

When Austin is old enough to say "excuse me", I will make sure he not only has the knowledge to ask but also comply with the phrase. Smile when you move to the side, add a hello, and give ample space - not just a crappy centimeter. Be aware of your surroundings and anticipate when an "excuse me" might be on its way and, for goodness sake, do not give a dirty look. Your face will get stuck that way :).

UPDATE: After I posted this, I did the world's tiniest research experiment - I ran with a jogging stroller. Not only does this take up the most space but you have momentum and, quite possibly a sleeping child. Unlike running alone or walking with a stroller, running with a jogging stroller is akin to walking across hot coals while feeding the hungry - people admire you. You are a hot, multitasking mamma who is not only bettering her body and her mind, but pushing your bundle of joy. People do not only stand aside, they part like the red sea.

To B-Yaz or not to B-Yaz

My men and me

Yesterday I went to Dr. B for my annual/second opinion check up. Since my progesterone shot a few weeks ago, I am still without period but after my visit, I am more educated and will, in turn, share my knowledge with you.

To begin, I will review a bit of what I  learned and recorded back when I heard that I would be an IVF-er.

One's menstrual cycle is stimulated by estrogen increasing during the follicular phase of the cycle, thickening the lining of the uterus and the eventual release of an ovum (or egg). Meanwhile, under the influence of progesterone, the uterine lining changes to prepare for potential implantation (pregnancy). If you do not get pregnant within about two weeks, the estrogen and progesterone levels drop significantly, the lining sheds, and that is your period.
This explains why I was getting my period when on the pill. The pill was providing my body with the increased levels of progesterone and estrogen. When I reached the placebo pills, these hormones dropped, causing my lining to shed and creating a period. Dr. B explained he could give the pill to a woman who has gone through menopause and she might get a period because of the hormone changes in her body. Capisce?

After speaking with Dr. B yesterday, it was reconfirmed that my estrogen and progesterone hormones are still sleeping and because they are at a stagnant level (without any significant increases or decreases), they are still unmotivated to make a period. The good news is that this isn't bad news. Unlike women suffering from poly-cystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), where hormones are out of balance and there is the potential to stop ovulating, get acne, and/or grow extra facial hair (eesh, as if infertility wasn't stressful enough), I am still a victim of hypothalamic (or "athletic") amenorrhoea. I still find this hard to believe because in all of my Googling, these women are either ultra-exercisers or anorexic. Wikipedia writes "women who diet or who exercise at a high level do not take in enough calories to expend of their exercise as well as maintain their normal menstrual cycle". I certainly don't fit into that category, but at least it isn't saying "women who are fat messes with beards".
PCOS is also genetic and since everyone else in my family seems to be normal, fertility wise, that is the unlikely culprit.

Amenorrhoea has only a few long term side effects, outside of difficulty conceiving. One of which is osteoporosis As Dr. B did, many will many physicians, put patients on an oral contraceptive to trigger a period to help prevent osteoporosis and keep them from getting pregnant - just in case. We decided to go with B-Yaz because back in 2002, my body was cool with regular Yaz and there were no annoying side effects, there is an extra bit of B vitamin which is a win for everyone, and it is a lower dose of estrogen - a benefit he explained but now I can't remember.

In any event, the new plan is to go back on the pill and live life as normal (awesome, optimistic, and energetic), bask in the glow of my little man, and then see what happens when we decide to go for Baby #2. Worst case, we go back to IRMS and defrost one of Austin's siblings for an embryo transfer.

Final thought - Should we have to have another transfer, Austin and Baby #2 would unofficially be fraternal twins since they were fertilized on the same day. Weird Sciences.

First Mother's Day

My husband told me Austin was SO excited for his first Mother's Day that he got up at 5:00 Sunday morning just so the day could get started.

With the exception of one Mother's Day back when I was an idiot teenager and forgot to get my mom a card and then was a mix of ignorant and ungrateful when she took it personally, I have always relished in the two holidays dedicated to my parents. When I was very young, I obviously had the help of my dad - signing my name on cards or diligently gluing sequins and glitter on whatever bedazzled gift I was making - and we always hit a home run. Mom would plant her begonias, accept her flowers and construction paper cut-outs with awe, and we would all spend the late afternoon barbecuing and eating one chocolate covered fruit or another. We may have done the whole brunch thing once or twice but when literally everyone and their mother is trying to make their 11:00 reservation, it got a little taxing and silly. My family, the three of us, made Mother's Day our own. We had our own traditions, our own quirks, and our own crafts - and it was glorious.


 As with everything else, holidays take on a new meaning once you have a kid so like Christmas and Thanksgiving, Mother's Day was reinvented this year. It was my first! And I was very excited for it. Austin and his dad did their due diligence and sent flowers the Friday before (shipping and handling spikes tremendously over the weekend and I appreciate their thoughtfulness as well as their economy) and planned a lovely dinner with the help of Grandpa. BUT more than the flowers, Austin gave Mommy the best gift ever later than morning - a two hour nap! More than the nap itself  it was the timing of the nap. Mommy wanted a nap too. I napped the hell out of those two hours and it was great!

At my parents I asked my mom how her first "Grandmother's Day" felt and she described herself as feeling blessed and grateful. As one who is not very religious, those are not words I typically use but considering how far we have come since the start of this post, I think they were two excellent choices.

More than having a first Mother's Day was the epiphany of why there is a Mother's Day. In Austin's 6 months of life, I have learned why my mom was frustrated when I left toys all over the place, why she was forever doing laundry and my dad was forever folding it, why she read newspapers and newsletters filled with area activities, cut coupons, encouraged vegetables, scheduled play dates, gave me constant hugs and kisses (whether I wanted them or not), or sometimes just watched me do whatever I was doing - as if breathing in that moment, chronicling it in her mental filing cabinet, and chanting to herself, "remember this moment. remember this day".

Why I don't Nap

By Austin

Grandma tells mom I nap for two hours the days they watch me, while mom is at work
but I know for a fact she doesn't believe them because when it's just us, I go berserk!

I wake up real early, while the sun's still asleep but lay in my bed with my binky in hand
then my tummy rumbles and I give a cry. Since I have her trained - mom arrives on command.

She'll bring my bottle, change my diaper, give me a kiss. She'll dress me into fresh threads
And for the rest of the day, I'm fairly certain, that is the last time I'll be in my bed.

After a bottle or pureed sweet yams, I may dose for twenty minutes or so
But don't think you'll have time to vacuum or dust because when I wake up, I'm ready to go

for a walk
for a bounce
for tummy time with dad
for a snack
for a toy
for a roll on the floor
for new diaper
and for some hugs
for any attention you have, I want more..

I know you'll entertain me, you'll gaggle and goo when I flash my million dollar grin
And you'll forfeit, surrender, your pressing chores because - let's face it - I'm going to win.

Now I know you're sneaky - and I'm on to your game - when you take the car for a ride
to no where specific, around the block, to lull me to sleep by the hum of the drive.

Or to pack up the stroller, with a blanket and lovey, while I'm rocked to sleep by the gravel below
but who are you kidding? This walk will only get another ten minutes or so.

Accept your fate, your powers are helpless, although I have to admit, you fight a good fight
but you know that you won't have your free time until I decide to call it a night.

BYOP(rogesterone)

 You know what I don't miss? Progesterone shots. You know what I miss even less? Getting them.

As I may have mentioned, my last day of breastfeeding was February 4th (snark if you like Leche ladies, but Austin and I just didn't do well with it) and between that date and today I should have restarted my menstrual life in hopes of smoothly creating Baby #2, if desired. Unfortunately the "restart" mode that Dr. B referred to at my 6 week postpartum check up has yet to kick in leaving me at the mercy of science, yet again.

I pray you never see the day when a nurse asks you to come in for a progesterone shot and you respond: "I have everything I need here. Can my husband just give it to me?" Why, you ask? Well 1) it means you had a bout with infertility and that is frustrating and tiresome, 2) Your husband should not be well versed in the ways of progesterone administration, 3) I would have hoped your body properly restarted after Baby #1, and 4) You should not have an arsenal of syringes, progesterone vials, alcohol swabs, and replacement needles tucked away "just in case" in your bathroom drawers. It just isn't normal. You also should not have to call your husband from work, ask if you have x-amount of MG's of progesterone available and he, in an effort to find the correct medication, rattle off 3 other types of medication in your kit and then know the quantitative difference between an ML, a CC, and an MG. This isn't conversational knowledge, this is IVF speak.

Anyway, so rather that giving me the shot at home, I went to the doctor's (my own progesterone in tow) because I had some questions and she wanted to see my son. This will probably be one of the few times Austin will visit a gynecologist's office, but since he is a little flirt, he had a grand old time with the ladies in the office. As Mommy posed for her progesterone injection, Austin dribbled and drabbled in the corner, enamored by the stark white environment in the patient's room.

Bruised butt and all, Austin and I headed home to wait. Ideally, if my hormones take the appropriate cues, I should have my period just in time for Mother's Day. Ironic, isn't it?

The World We Live In

Yesterday I ran the Rutgers Unite Half Marathon. As I waited at the starting line, I thought, "how perfect that the race sponsor is Unite". The 4000 runners lined up that day were doing more than just exercising, besting their PR's, crossing off bucket list items, and running a race - we were uniting as one group in support of Boston, of runners everywhere, and of good overriding evil.

On April 15th, two terrorists made bombs from pressure cookers and strategically placed them at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Held on Patriots Day, the event attracts up to 500,000 people and has grown from 18 participants in 1897 to over 38,0000 - making it the world's largest marathon. This year, 2013, just before 3:00 pm in downtown Copley Square came the first explosion, shortly followed by the second. Like something out of a movie, the incident resulted in over 100 casualties - many of which lost limbs, suffered injuries from shrapnel, and required immediate medical attention. Streets reserved exclusively for the runners were suddenly filled with emergency workers, good samaritans, and scared civilians. Simultaneously we saw humanity at its worst and at its best - fortunately the heroes outnumbered the evil doers by far.

Wearing Mommy's medal

The visual images, albeit graphic, showed people flocking towards the injured and regular Joe's and Jane's turned into first responders, triage nurses, and new friends. The public outcry was immediate and through cell photo photos, Tweets, social media, and news coverage action was taken immediately to narrow down the suspects. It seemed that by days end, two suspects were weeded out, splattered all over the internet, and the chase was on.

So back at the starting line, I began to think - "what kind of world have a brought my little man into?". You go to the movies, there is a shooting. You go to school, you are at risk. You run a race, you could lose a limb. Where does it end? Well, I may not have an answer to that but I do know, as I looked at the racers wearing tee shirts, badges, ribbons, and hats in support of Boston, I realized that there is too much good out there to prevent little champions like Austin from entering the world. As we ran, as I ran, I felt a little extra something for those that may not be able to run anymore. The proximity of the race dates, the fact that Rutgers was not canceled in light of the recent events, told the world that you may kick us, but you can't bring us down. We may be sad, we may have been scared, but now we are united and we will out number you - always.

On I ran, passing (or sometimes being passed by) my peers thinking about Boston, the runners and the spectators in particular. Running is different than a lot of sports because 99% of us know  we aren't going to win this race, we aren't the elite, and we aren't professionals. We recognize running is a solitary sport but it is also a team sport. Early finishers double back and cheer us, mortals, on. Telling us the finish line is around the corner or that this is, in fact, the last hill. People we have never seen before cheer us on - holding up signs saying "Your feet hurt because you are kicking ass" or "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon". Runners, those you are "competing" against, give you a reassuring nod or an extra smile when its clear you are running out of steam and, for whatever reason, that propels you to forward. Girl Scours, Frat Boys, Soccer Moms, and Supportive Dads in their "I'm Here to Help" tees to pass out water and Gu on the sidelines despite the temperature, the early hours, or their outside responsibilities. For a solitary sport, we are one helluva team.

When I crossed the finish line, shocked I had gotten a PR, and found my friends I was anxious to get home to my family. I had that overwhelming feeling of wholeness and goodness that I wanted to share and use right away. Yes, there were two little bastards out there that sought to injure many and take the lives of three. To you both I say - screw you! As long as people, communities, runners, what have you come together and keep moving forward and sharing positive moments, you will not win.

Where did my hair go?

If you have been following along, you'll notice that the luscious locks Austin came into the world with have started to thin.  At the moment he is a mix between Mo from the Three Stooges and Robin Hood's Friar Tuck. 

The creative apple didn't fall too far from the tree and this is what my dad wrote on the matter. 

Where Did My Hair Go?

by Grandpa 

Where is my hair?

Where did it go?

I saw it right there.

And now it's no mo'.

Is it on my pillow?

Or on my bed?

Did the wind blow,

And take it from my head?

I'd ask my Momma

And my Pop.

If they would  help

And make it stop.

Is it at Grandma's and Grandpa's?

Is it in a book?

Maybe they can find it,

If they look?

What is the cause?

What is the reason?

Is it from hiccups

Or too much sneezin'?

I don't know 'cause I'm just a baby.

Will it grow back? Will it? Maybe?

Ya know. I don't give a hoot.

'Cause even without it .

I'm so darn cute.